







O M O ' <0' 

^^^'^-^V .co^i.;^,% .<.^>\- 




^"=1 





o^ -^y 6 " 'iL " ♦ '^^ 



'j>%- 



■; .♦^'V 





-^ot: 






..:,'^V 




>^^. 




AUTUMN LEAVES 



GATHERED FOR A FEW FRIENDS. 



BY 



L. M. MOREHEAD 



3 



i^^J^PrR-ll*?*^ 



1^0] 1 iS83 



NEW YORK: 

ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY 

goo Broadway, cor. 20th Street. 



Ma, 



COPYRIGHT, 1883, BY 
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY 



EDWARD 0. JENKINS, ROBERT RUTTER, 

Printer and Stereotyper^ Binder^ 

20 North William St. 116 and 118 East 14th Street, 



"To the unquiet heart and brain 
A use in measured language lies, 
The sad mechanic exercise 
Like dull narcotics lulling pain." 

The solace of many a weary time, 
The pastime of many a lonely hour, 
Like the cadence of bells in their musical chime. 
Like the gathering of many a wayside flower. 
Like the gush of affection when old friends meet, 
The writing of this has been mournful, tho' sweet ; 
Oh book ! guard thy secrets, for many there lie 
Close hid from the gaze of the curious eye. 



CONTENTS. 





PAGE 


My Inspiration, 


I 


"Why," . . . . . 


3 


To E , Nov. 8, 1866, . 


5 


To E , Nov. 8, 1867, 


6 


In Memoriam— Our Soldier Boy. R. M 


.7 


Alone !..... 


9 


Through Suffering, . 


10 


Transplanted, . . . . 


12 


The Close of a Beautiful Old Age, 


14 


Our Lost Chief, . . . . 


16 


David Tod, .... 


17 


The Open Gate, . . . . 


18 


" There," .... 


20 


" Back Again," .. . . . 


23 


Not Yet, .... 


. 26 


At-one-ment, 


28 


Thou Knowest Best, . 


• 29 


Some Day, . 


31 


Rest After Great Anxiety, 


• 35 


The Other Life, . 


37 


Sleeping Germs, 


• 39 


"Sorrow May Endure for a Night 


but Joy 


Cometh in the Morning," . 


41 


Who Knows ? . 


42 


"Tears, (Not) Idle Tears," 


44 


Retrospection, .... 


. 46 


iMPLORA, .... 


48 


Beautiful Night, 


51 


" To-morrow," 


53 


Only a Worker, 


55 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



Whv Not ? . 

Fading Firelight Fancies, . 

So Long Ago, 

A Sum in Cancellation, 

A Farewell to School-Days, . 

Sea Changes, .... 

A Garnered Sheaf, 

Brown Studies for November's Easel 

An October Picture, 

Waiting, .... 

Down the River, . 

Remembered, yet Forgotten, 

To a Young Friend, 

To A Friend on her Wedding Day, 

Twilight Voices, .... 
The Confessional, .... 

Name Written in Water, 

A Climb, ..... 

Last Hours of David Livingstone, 
America to Prussia : — Greeting, . 
"Only a Woman, Womanly," . 
The Temptation ! . . . . 

Listen ! , . . . . . 

"Mission Work" for You and for Me, . 
Jennie's Trousseau, .... 

A Recipe, 

To "The Star-Spangled Banner," 
A Nation's Birthday, 
An Ode.— For Decoration Day, 
Bring Flowers, .... 

One Flower for "Our Soldiers' Graves," . 
On the Ball given at the "White House 
Feb. 5, 1862, .... 



PAGE 
58 
60 
62 

66 
68 
70 
73 
75 
78 
80 
81 

83 
86 

^1 
88 

91 
93 
96 
100 
104 
106 
108 
no 

113 
117 
119 
123 
126 
128 
130 
132 

134 



MEMORIAL. 




MY INSPIRATION. 

MARCH 6, 1872. 

' 'Twas ' Mother' ! in my triumph hour, 
And ' Mother' ! in my time of tears," 

O wish for fame — no vision bright, 
No love romance — no hero knight, 
Inspired this rhyming pen to write. 



Only a " little lady " fair. 

With earnest eyes and silvered hair. 

Cheerful, yet worn with years of care ; 

She was not beautiful nor young, 

To coax or praise with flattering tongue 

She only loved the lays I sung. 

A little woman firm and true. 
Whose counsel fell like gentle dew, 
So frail, and yet so brave to do. 



MV lySPIRA TION. 

She scanned my heart with loving care, 
Saw where life's storms had swept it bare 
Of hopes that promised once so fair ; 

Of quick perception to discern, 
She felt the scarce awakened germ 
Might to a grateful solace turn. 

" Mother," on this, thy natal day. 
Thy grave is white and far away. 
Yet on the snow this flower I lay — 

As o'er thy child thou bendest low. 
Who dares to say thou canst not know : 
That still for thee my numbers flow. 




"WHY." 

TO E , NOVEMBER 8, 1872. 

So many worlds, so much to do, 
So little done, such things to be, 
How know I what had need of thee, 

For thou wert strong- as thou wert true." 

NOBLE life that can not die, 
A true pure presence ever nigh, 
A hope that blesses— this is why 
We all remember thee. 



Not for thy growing manhood's grace 
Just shadowing o'er thy youthful face, 
Whose beauty pencil ne'er could trace, 
Do I remember thee. 

Not for thine eye of earnest l)!ue, 
Telling of purpose firm and true, 
Tender, yet brave to dare or do 
For honor or for me. 



''iviiYr 

'Tis not that others are not fair, 
Nor that I want for friends or care ; 
Nor that my heart no love can share 
With love for thee. 

For life hath ties yet pure and sweet, 
And friends it glads my heart to greet, 
While time yet treads with noiseless feet 
Toward heaven and thee. 

The world is beautiful, I know, 
With sunlit vales and peaks of snow. 
Where stately rivers rise and flow 
On to the sea. 

I welcome each returning spring, 
I know the wealth the summers bring, 
While all its beauty — each fair thing 
Tells me of thee. 

For knowing thee men seemed more true. 
With loving thee, love purer grew ; 
While faltering faith fresh courage drew— 
Thus I remember thee. 



TO E , Nov. 8, 1866. 

' Death has made 
His darkness beautiful with t'lee." 




HOU'LT ne'er grow old, my darling, — in 
God's fold 
So safely housed from blighting heat and 
cold. 
There no fierce storm shall beat, — on thy fair head 
Heaven's gentle dew shall evermore be shed ; 
Ne'er to grow old, dear one, nor watch each parting 

day, 
The friend most loved and loving droop in slow 

decay. 
To lose some charm from life, to see some hope go 

down. 
And know our springs are dried, and all our fields 

are brown — 
And I shall know thee, darling, in that fairer land 
Where thou canst ne'er grow old ; and touch thy 

hand, 
And hear thy voice and know its low pure tone. 
And feel thee still my beautiful, my own. 



TO E . 



TO E , Nov. 8, 1867. 

All that thy hand hath touched has precious grown, 

And dearer grows as I draw nearer home, — 

The home that claims thee, now seems strangely 

near : 
While death's dark stream hath neither chill nor fear 
Since thou hast crossed its current, — cold and wide, 
Ere thou didst stand upon its farther side. 
And with thy graceful hand stretched out to me 
Drawing me ever to thy home and thee ; 
Oh ! when life's storms are sobbing faint and low. 
When the long shadows fade and paler grow, 
How sweet shall fall upon my wistful ear. 
In tones so missed, so longed for, " Welcome, Mother 

dear." 



IN MEMORIAM. 



OUR SOLDIER BOY, R. M. 

" Thou hast the dew of thy youth." 

|]0 noontide sun had scorched the tender 
grass, 
On which thy youthful steps so lightly 
fell ; 
No breath of passion dimmed the crystal glass 

Which mirrored life for thee with magic spell : 
No cloud had risen o'er thy morning hours, 
No rude wind brushed the dewdrop from the flowers. 




Firm as thy faith in man, thy trust in God, 
Pure as the dewdrop glistening on the lawn, 

Free as the skylark springing from the sod 
Singing in gladsome welcome to the dawn, 

Crowned with the halo of thy love and truth 

On thee forever rests "the dew of youth," 



8 IN MEMORIAM. 

We would not, could not, loved one, call thee back, 
Though much we miss thy gladsome, winning 
ways. 
To tread with us the worn and dusty track. 

Whose flowers lie withering through the autumn 
days. 
To bear with us the burden and the heat 
Or falter on life's march with bruised and weary 
feet. 

"The dew of youth" is thine, thy heart's pure trust 
Ne'er learned to doubt- if friend were false or 
true ; 
Ne'er learned that love could crumble into dust 

Or truth and honor rule the noble few ; 
The sparkles on the cup were thine, the dregs are 

ours, — 
Thou art crowned with living, we have withered 
flowers. 



ALONE ! 

" One year, one year, one little year 
And so much gone." 



NE year ago and thou wert here, 
To wish ^' good-morning " and " good-night,' 
So tenderly to say "good-bye," 
So sure to come with fading light ; 

Sometimes to touch my braided hair 
With such a lingering, fond caress. 

That I too thought myself grown fair. 
And dearer prized each silken tress. 

One year ago I thought not how 

The day could pass without thy aid ; 

The morn could dawn, the noontide glow, 
The sunlight into evening fade. 

How shadowy now that hand has grown, 
How faint, how far, that loving tone ; 

I hear, I see them but in dreams, 
And wake to find myself alone. 




THROUGH SUFFERING. 

' To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die." 

EAR after year the cross she bore, 
Yet covered it with flowers, 

And sweet the smile her face still w^ore 
Through suffering's weary hours. 



Her gentle presence ever thrilled 

Our hearts with love intense, 
The very air she breathed seemed filled 

With heavenly innocence. 

So sweet, so pure her life's evangel 

Echoed with notes from heaven, 
Walking with mortals, yet an uncrowned angel 

With naught to be forgiven. 

She heard a voice we could not hear. 

The pearly gates stood open, 
She knew God's love would dry each tear, 

And heal each heart now broken. 



THROUGH SUFFERING. u 

Why mourn that she has gone before 

To draw us up to Heaven ? 
A sweeter guide shall nevermore 

To loving hearts be given. 

Waiting upon the ''shining shore" 

Of Life's celestial river, 
Her gentle influence brighter grows 

In Heaven's pure light forever. 



TRANSPLANTED. 

The op'ning bud to Heaven conveyed, 
And bade it bloom forever there." 



IN MEMORIAM. 

E had a tiny flower, 

That blossomed for an hour 
Sweet and fair ; 
But " the gardener " came one day 
And took the flower away 
From our care. 




He knew rude winds might blow, 
He feared the chilling snow 

Might impair 
Its loveliness so pure, 
So He took it "home " — I'm sure, 

To His care. 



Ah ! baby Nellie, why 
Does our heart so ache and sigh 
Still in vain, 



TRANSPLANTED. 

Just to hear that coaxing " me," 
*And that winning smile to see 
Once again ? 

But the music once so sweet 
Of your little pattering feet 

On the floor ; 
With your coaxing, cunning ways, 
Your tricks and baby plays, 

Are no more. 

And the tiny well-worn shoe 
Lies motionless, while you. 

Still and cold, 
In a little coffin white 
Are hidden from our sight, 

'Neath the m.old. 

But Nellie, dear, we know 
You will still in beauty grow. 

Day by day, 
In the "sweet bye-and-bye." 
We will not question '' why " 

You went away. 



13 




THE CLOSE OF A BEAUTIFUL OLD AGE. 

IN MEMORIAM. 

HEN die the young, we say " 'Tis well ; 
How much is spared, ah ! who can tell, 
Of sin or sorrow. 
They ne'er can lose youth's tender bloom, 
Nor know the fierce, the scorching noon 
Of life's to-morrow." 

But now a beautiful old age 

Has closed its "book of life," each page 

How bright and glowing, 
So clean, so fair, each leaf appears, 
No blot of withering doubt, no fears 

Its record showing. 

From his own heart he looked on man 
And thus so tenderly did scan 
The weak and erring. 



THE CLOSE OF A BEAUTIFUL OLD AGE. 

While thus his God, tho' wise and just, 
Was still "The Father" he could trust 
As kind and loving. 

Yes, noble was the brave, true heart, 
And nobly did he act his part, 

Till sternest duty 
A loving worship seemed to be, 
Where faith, and hope, and charity 

Blended in beauty. 

Along the straight and narrow way 
He humbly walked, and, day by day, 

To Heaven drew nearer. 
A life of love can never die, 
It only melts into the sky 

To shine the clearer. 



15 



OUR LOST CHIEF. 

Written on the day of the funeral ceremonies in honor of 
Abraham Lincohi. 




PSE, GOOD, and true, — each simple word 
Recalls the friend we mourn to-da}^ ; 

I While every heart with love is stirred 
As still those simple words we say. 

So luise ta choose the path of right, 
So good to man, so true to God, — 

Those words shall glow with living light, 
And guide us in the path he trod. 

We need not stumble, 'tis so clear 

While truth and goodness point the way ; 

The pure in heart can have no fear 
In following /lim we mourn to-day. 

Oh mothers of our stricken land ! 

Still for the living we should pray, 
That they may grow wise, good, and true, 

Like the loved chief we mourn to-day. 




DAVID TOD. 

GOV. OF OHIO IN 1863-4. 

On the announcement to the Ohio Legislature of the death of Gov. 
Tod, Gen. S , of " the House," in pronouncing a eulogy on his char- 
acter, read these lines which had been published in the morning paper. 

O rust was on his harness when he fell — 

Foremost in works of use and love to man, 
The hearts that knew him best his worth 
could tell, 
How true the heart to prompt — how wise the 
head to plan. 

As tempered steel his purpose firm and true — 
On which both friend and country well might 
trust. 
His kindness fell as falls the noiseless dew, 

Lifting bruised hearts as flowers from out the 
dust. 

Lives so replete with noble acts seem all aglow ; 

(As lowly panes are golden in the sun's decline,) 
Rekindling faith in man, erewhile they show, 

He still retains a spark of the Divine. 
2 




THE OPEN GATE. 

We walk through blindfold, and the noiseless doors 
Close after us forever." 

II turf SO green, oh bending sky I 

Oh flowers with luscious panting breath, 

Ye smile, ye blossom, and ye die — 
Can ye not solve the mystery — death ? 

We come with flowers — his own loved flowers, 

Lilies with scented, tiny bell, 
And by his grave through May's bright hours 

We sit and of his virtues tell. 

We smooth the sod with jealous care, 
And sometimes drop a tender tear ; 

We say how sweet he was — how fair ! 
We think none else could be so dear. 

Why should we say '' he was " ? we know 

That he is living — loving still — 
Where all his Heaven-born gifts may grow. 

Where purer love his heart may thrill. 



THE OPEN GATE. j^ 

We think of all his progress now — 
*How all his hopes fruition bear, 

With ne'er a doubt of why or how, 
Nor shadow of an earth-born care. 

His life we say ^' was sunshine lent," 
Or like the dew to blossoms given, 

And know the grave through which he went 
Was but the " Open Gate " to Heaven. 




"THERE." 

" The life that knows no ending, 
The tearless life is There P 

T hath been often said, 

" Life is not worth the living," that the years 
But silver o'er the head. 
And dim the eyes with many, many tears. 

I know 'tis sad to live. 

When those we loved the best have gone before ; 
Gone, we would fain believe, 

To wait for us upon a happier shore. 

Ah ! near the pearly gates, 

Which open wide on streets of purest gold, 
I know my mother waits. 

For mother-love can ne'er grow faint nor cold. 

Kindly she'll welcome me, 

For here her heart was ever slow to blame, 
And ah, it can not be 

That hearts should grow less kind near love's pure 
flame. 



''THERE r 21 

Oh, honored father dear, 

How many long and weary years have passed 
Since thou didst teach me here 

Thy faith so beautiful — ah, still I hold it fast. 

In heaven so long ! 

With happy ones who know not grief nor tears, 
With that blessed throng. 

How can he know of all my doubts and fears ? 

And there I know is one 

Whose strong young arm was bared through life 
for me, 
My brave true son, 

Sweet to my heart will thy glad welcome be. 

Another waits me there, 

Who loved me once, when I was young and fair, 
With braids of sunny hair ; 

But will he know me now, so bowed with care ? 



Ah ! in that radiant clime 

All trace of age or pain will disappear ; 
Fresh in my youthful prime. 

He'll know me there without a stain or tear. 



22 ''THEREr 

We should not "wish to die," 

Though " fields are green " beyond the swelling 
tide ; 
Though dear ones hover nigh 

To take our hand upon the other side. 

I dare not '' wish to die," 

Till He who placed me here shall call me home ; 
Here let me humbly try 

To learn His will, if yet my task is'done. 

Nor do I "wish to die," 

But calmly w^ait to hear the storm subside. 
When the last " sweet good-bye" 

Shall speed me kindly o'er the swelling tide. 



BACK AGAIN. ' 



THROUGH THE OLD CHURCH DOOR. 




T the church so rustic and homely, 

Through the old familiar door, 
I passed to the seat so lonely, 
Where oft I had sat before ; 
And the Holy Book stood open, 

While the teacher's words to-day 
Were the words of our blessed Saviour 
Before He "went away." 



" I have many things to say, beloved, 

But ye can not bear them now. 
Of all, ye shall know^ hereafter. 

If in faith ye humbly bow." 
Then into my heart there came stealing 

A spirit of peace and of rest, 
But how, or vvh}^ came the feeling 

" He knows who knoweth best." 



24 ''BACK AGAIN." 

While the years on their noiseless hinges 

Turned back to my wistful view, 
Till the past with the present blended, 

And I saw as the angels do : 
As close to my heart seemed pressing 

The loved ones one by one, 
Till the air was filled with blessing. 

And the lone one not alone,— 

Then I saw the dear old " Mother," 

As oft I had seen her there : 
I knew it was she and no other 

Who knelt by my side in prayer ; 
For the hair was so soft and clinging, 

Though the gray had changed to gold. 
And the voice I heard then singing, 

Had never grown faint nor old. 



And near to my side sat another. 

With rings of clustering hair, 
The sorely missed elder " brother," 

*' My boy," so good and so fair. 
So manly, so tali and slender, 

'' My pride " in the years gone by ; 
I felt his care yet so tender, 

In the glance of his earnest eye. 



''BACK AGAlNr 2^ 

Then three little lads so sturdy 

Seemed to nestle close by me, 
Alas ! they have sailed from home's moorings 

Far out on life's turbulent sea ; 
While here in the church so homely, 

Where we worshipped long years before, 
I sat so calmly and lonely, 

Thinking it o'er and o'er ; 

Till my heart, so full and so throbbing, 

Grew wondrous calm and still. 
As the child subdues its sobbing 

At the loving mother's will : 
And the dark and the doubt grew lighter 

Of why was it thus and so ; 
While the weary path grew brighter 

Down the chequered long ago. 




NOT YET. 

" When I shall answer to my angel name." 

lOME day" when we shall know as we are 

known, 
Jl When lonely hearts shall be no more alone, 
When forth from prison bars the bird has flown, 

" Some day " — 

When we shall vainly strive to track its flight 
While soaring upward toward the radiant light 
Which faith assures shall bless our longing sight 

" Some day " — 

Not yet while care still shadows o'er my brow, 
Nor yet while earthly love is strong as now. 
But, dear one, I shall be as pure as thou. 

Some day — 

My restless heart will cease its longings vain. 
Forgive the friend or foe who dealt the pain. 
When I shall answer to my angel name, 

Some day. 



NOT YET. 2 J 

Never again, O heart, to hunger as of old, 
Nor fear the coming storm, nor shrink from cold,. 
Sheltered so safe within the Shepherd's fold. 

Some day. 

My cheek will show no channel for a tear, 
No earthly soil will on my robes appear. 
My trembling voice again be strong and clear 

Some day. 

When I shall sorrow never, never more. 
To hear the coming of the boatman's oar. 
That bears our loved ones to the viewless shore. 

Some day. 




AT-ONE-MENT. 

T one with Thee, dear Lord, my spirit longs 
To know that strife and conflict now may 
cease ; 

It pants to hear the glad, triumphant songs 
Telling of warfare past, and rest, and peace. 

Oh ! blessed atonement, which indeed atones 
For all the seeming wrong, the ill, the pain, 

That e'en the ruthless tyrant, self, dethrones, 
And plants the sterile wastes with golden grain. 

To have no will but Thine, O blessed Lord, 
To humbly walk the path Thyself hath trod, 

To rest serenely on Thy promised Word, 
Is not tJiis being reconciled to God ? 



THOU KNOWEST BEST. 

I will lead them in paths that they have not known." 




OD'S way is not like ours — 
We would have brightness only — each long 

summer day, 
While from the perfumed flowers 
Rude winds should never steal one fragrant breath 
away ; — 

No dark, or threatening cloud 
Should ever stain the blue of Heaven's fair canopy, 

No thunder long and loud 
Should break the eternal calm of sky, and earth, and 
sea ; 

With fevered lips how soon 
The famished earth from fountains locked and 
sealed. 

Would crave that richest boon 
Which only clouds and storms can ever yield : 



30 THO U KNO WES T BE SI '. 

God's. way is not like ours, 
We would have only joy — the eye should know no 
tear, 

Nor through the long night hours 
Should weary sufferers toss — nor fond hearts throb 
with fear ; 

No rudely wakened dream 
Should show the precipice on which we blindly 
stood, 

No disappointment keen 
Arouse the soul to seek the true, the only good. 

Death should ne'er take away 
The firm, true heart on which our own could rest, 

That we might learn to pray, 
^' Thy will, not mine, be done." "Thou knowest 
best." 

God's way is not like ours. 
He leads us ever by a " path we have not known " — 

Through thorns perchance or flowers, — 
It still will bring us to '' His Rest, our Home." 



SOME DAY. 

" When my ships come home," 



f^i] SHALL be rich some day in sums untold 

Of light and love — more dear than pearls 
and gold, 




When all my ships come home, so seamed and old, 

Some day ; 

Freighted they were, with faith, and hope, and trust. 
Oh, precious stores ! dearer than golden dust. 
They will bring some return, I feel they must, 

Some day. 

My ships are coming home ; I know how they 
Have braved the storms while on their homeward 

way. 
But — they will anchor in some quiet Ijay, 

Some day. 

I see the clouds — I hear the wind's low wail, 
I fear them not, the " Promise " can not fail. 



32 



SOME DA V. 



And I shall see the land-approaching sail, 

Some day. 

With " oil and wine " from off some sunny shore, 
With gold and gems, O rich and precious store ! 
I ne'er shall want for light, no, nevermore ! 

Some day. 

The shadows lengthen toward the coming night, 
My ships are nearing land with sails so white, 
I shall be rich — in love, and warmth, and light, 

Some day. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



REST AFTER GREAT ANXIETY. 

" He shall not be afraid of evil tidings." 



m 



OW peacefully the week has closed, which 
opened full of fears, 
How calm its sunlight dies away, which 
dawned thro' mists and tears ; 
To my strained ear, the evening wind sobs out a 

kind farewell. 
No '' evil tidings " it has brought — nor cruel tale to 
tell. 

Pass to thy rest forever, O troubled, anxious week, 

One heart shall ever kindly of thy vanished hours 
-speak. 

For though thy morn was clouded o'er with gloomy 
doubts and fears, 

Thy evening showed its rainbow, arched with grate- 
ful smiles and tears. 

Oh ! for that higher, firmer faith in the promise 
Thou hast made, 



36 



REST AFTER GREAT ANXIETY. 



That he whose "heart is fixed on Thee " need never 
be afraid ; 

No haunting "noonday shadows," nor "evil tid- 
ings" come 

To pale the eye with weeping, or strike the senses 
dumb. 

How blest are they — the happy few — who that sweet 
trust attain. 

Even sorrow on their quiet hearts, falls like a sum- 
mer rain. 

O'er sunny slopes, or rocky steeps, with even steps 
they tread. 

While light from the " Eternal Hills " upon their 
path is shed. 



THE OTHER LIFE. 

"It lies around us like a cloud, 
A world we can not see ; 
Yet the sweet closing of an eye 
May bring us there to be. 



—Mrs. Stovve. 




HE Other life," ah ! what is it ? 
Luring forever from our side 
The helpful heart, the willing hand, 
Leaving us still to breast the tide. 



The other life " that looks so dark, 
Yet many timid ones have gone 

Into that vast uncertain void. 

As home-bound swallows breast the storm. 



The other life" that seems so far 
From home, with all its tender ties. 

Yet, loving hearts the soonest go 
To seek that life beyond the skies ; 

The other life," ah ! can it need 

As we the hearts so true and brave ? 

Our need seems sorest — yet they go. 
Leaving fohd hearts to ache and crave. 



38 



THE OTHER LIFE. 

" The other life " takes all we love, 
And gives us nothing in return 
Save hands that beckon from above, 
And pitying hearts that o'er us yearn. 

'' The other life " — its circle grows 

And widens with each fleeting year. 
While link by link the chain is forged 
That draws us near, and yet more near. 

"The other life" — its open gate 

Lies just across the grave, we know ; 
'Tis open with the summer flowers, 

Nor closed when falls the winter's snow. 

" The other life " — prophetic pen 

Alone its wondrous bliss has told ; 
Only prophetic ears have heard 
The music from its harps of gold. 

'*The other life " — how mystic seems 
That sound to dull, insensate ears ! 
Yet kindred voices sing the songs 

That swell throughout its heavenly spheres. 




SLEEPING GERMS. 

HERE comes a time when, stern and hard, 
The tree points coldly to the sky. 
When winds no gentle whisperings speak. 
But fiercely through the branches cry. 

While far beneath congealing frosts 
Kind nature hides a fountain sweet, 

One day to swell those fibres hard 

And with new life the spring to greet. 

There comes a time when tender youth 
Is met by passion's hateful glare, 

When reasonings false assail the truth. 

When childish seems the long-used prayer. 

There comes a time when selfhood rears 
Its haughty front of daring pride. 

When " what I will " is all its aim. 
When every sense seems glorified. 



40 



SLEEPING GERMS. 

There comes a time when counsels seem 
Like idle words or foolish play, 

As pearls when found by savage hands 
Seem worthless stones to fling away. 

Beneath all this lie little germs 

Like last year's flower's scattered seed, 

(Erewhile above them rankly grows 
Many an idle, baleful weed), 

Sown by a mother's wistful care 

Far back in happy childhood's years, 

When penitent for wilful wrong, 

Her sweet rebuke brought gentle tears. 

God guards with care these tender germs 
Lest passion scorch their latent power, 

Or faithless friend with bitter taunt 

Blight them in youth's unguarded hour. 

Some day some tender, searching word 
May wake to life that latent power. 

As spring-time sets the juices free 

That soon may grow to fruit and flower. 




"SORROW MAY ENDURE FOR A NIGHT, 
BUT JOY COMETH IN THE 
MORNING." 

H, fisherman, haste from the darkening west ; 
Fly, little bird, fly to your sheltering nest ; 
Cling, timid child, cling to the hand you 
love best ; 

For the storm beats heavily. 

The bird never reached the sheltering tree. 
The boat rides adrift on the pitiless sea ; 
The hand has dropped from the child, ah me ! 
So cold and so heavily. 

But again shines the sun o'er the wreck-strewn sand, 
And many birds sing through the storm-drenched 

land. 
While the soothed child clings to another kind hand. 
Singing on so merrily. 

Thus sorrow will come and sorrow will go, 
Thus the tide of our life will ebb and will flow. 
And the. sunshine come after the rain, we know, 
Tho' the storm beat heavily. 



WHO KNOWS? 




^H ! it seems such a pity to take it away," 
The Death Angel tenderly whispered one 
day 

To his twin brother, Sleep, who watched by the bed, 
Where slumbered yet calmly a bright curly head. 
" 'Tis twice I have folded my dark wings before. 
Just waiting to enter this love-guarded door"; 
Then turned from the portal, " Not yet must he die. 
While so tenderly loved ; I will come by and by. 

'^ Ah ! it seems such a pity, once more I have come 
On my errand of mercy to call the child home. 
Again I have folded my wings at the door ; 
I have waited in vain, for they love him the more ; 
More beautiful still is that casket of clay 
Where dwells the young soul I must beckon away. 
Ah ! sweet brother Sleep, how sad and how stern 
Must I seem to the fond hearts that over it yearn, 

'^ Ah ! it seems such a pity, your watch has been long, 
And tender and kind as his mother's low song. 



WHO KNOWS? 43 

Kissing down his fair eyelids, while soothing each 

fear, 
For you come with a blessing, I bring but a tear ; 
But see ! down his pathway, what pitfalls are there ; 
On the cheek of his mother lie furrows of care ; 
And you, gentle Sleep, may forsake him some day, 
Then think 'twas in mercy I called him away." 



}. 



^' TEARS, (NOT) IDLE TEARS." 

" They that sow in tears shall reap in joy." 

AST Philoe's graven stones — o'er Egypt's 
burning sands 
Stately and calm her wondrous river flows ; 
While dusky toilers till the thirsty lands, 
He all-unheeding toward the ocean goes. 

The stony Sphinx, who keeps her secret well, 
Looks calmly on as still the months go by ; 

Old Memnon murmurs, but no tale will tell 
Where the vast river's hidden fountains lie. 

The sun shines on, the moons still wax and wane, 
He heeds no murmurs, yields to no caress ; 

Wisely he bides his hour — then not in vain 
He overflows to vivify and bless. 

Tears thus should be as soft, persuasive rain, 

Which breaks and melts the long, unyielding clod ; 

Where patient hands may reap the golden grain, 
Or children gather daisies from the sod. 



''TEARS, {NOT) IDLE TEARS." 45 

Oft-lavished tears but waste the heart's rich soil, 
On which high hopes and noble thoughts should 
grow, 

As summer's wasting storms undo the toil 

Of careful hands, or spring's benignant glow. 



Then waste not tears : their fount should guarded be, 
That no impatient touch unlock its deep recess ; 

With wise and tender love let the supply be free — 
That it may only overflow to save and bless. 




RETROSPECTION. 

"Speak to the children of Israel, that they go forward." — Exodus 
xiv. 15. 

ACKWARD along life's path I would to-day, 

Retrace my weary steps, 
Such faltering steps that were not so alway, 
But firm and strong, — perhaps 

It is because the devious, way-worn path 

Looks all too rugged now, 
Where furrow follows furrow in the swath 

Of time's relentless plough. 

The stubble rustles in the fields so brown, 

Lying the path beside, 
The hill seems steeper, while the furzy down 

Looks cold and bleak and wide. 

Where are the flowers that blossomed in the grass, 
And where the waving grain ? 

I miss the Lark's wild carol as I pass 
Across the dusty plain. 



RETROSPECTION. 47 

Just here I stumbled once — can I forget 

That cruel, sad mistake ? 
My heart-strings quiver as I write — and yet — 

It seemed the way to take. 

The children that once walked this path with me 

Are busy, bearded men, 
While some '' are not," or seem, alas ! to be 

At times so far, — and then 

I lift above the roadway trusting eyes, 

And ofttimes see quite clear 
Pictured against the glowing, sunset skies, 

Those missing ones so dear. 

Onward, my soul — the past is thine no more, 

The future leave to God — 
" He leadeth thee" — "The Master goes before," 

Follow the path He trod. 

To-day is ours to fill with love and life — 

" Forward " its bugle call 
To wiser effort and to nobler strife, 

'Gainst evil's power and thrall. 



IMPLORA. 

WRITTEN FOR THE WOMAN's " TEMPERANCE MOVE- 
MENT " IN OHIO. 

" Ye shall reap if ye faint not." 

H ! woman, faint not ! though the wished- 
for morning 
Delayeth long to bless thy w^aiting sight : 




The darkest hour is just before the dawning 
Dispels the gloom, the hopeless blank of night. 

Oh ! woman, faint not ; through the night so dreary, 
One w^atched for thee — forsaken and alone, 

Praying in agony while worn and weary. 

With none to " watch one hour " with Him, not 



one 



Oh ! woman, faint not ; on His truth relying. 
Fear not to walk where He, our Master, trod ; 

Humbly like Him— all pride, all self denying, 
Striving to win the wretched back to God. 



IMP LOR A. 



49 



Oh ! woman, faint not ; by the cross still kneeling 
Did woman pray whilst others watched afar — 

First to the grave — with tender footsteps stealing, 
Came woman ere had paled the morning star. 

Oh ! woman, faint not, while ye still remember 
The loving heart our Master ever bore ; 

"Woman, behold thy Son" — tliose words so tender 
Seem fraught with meaning never felt before. 

Oh ! woman, faint not ; fathers, sons, and brothers 
Have failed to help in this, our sorest need ; 

Strong is the foe, yet God will help the mothers : 
He sees their tears — He knows the hearts that 
bleed. 

Oh ! woman, faint not ; hearts to thee are turning 
Whose life-blood year by year and drop by drop 

Has wasted silently — while vainly yearning 
Above the wrong no love nor tears could stop. 

Oh ! woman, faint not — many hands imploring, 

Stretch out to thee a stained and trembling palm ; 
Those hands may yet be raised in praise adoring. 
Helped by thy earnest prayer, won by thy Sabbath 
psalm. 
4 



50 



IMP LOR A, 



Oh ! woman, faint not ; lo ! a cloud all-glorious 
Of witnesses surrounds thee day by day ; 

Courage like thine must make thy faith victorious, 
Courage to work, and faith to watch and pray. 

Oh ! woman, faint not, though the morn delayeth, 
" Behold we count them happy which endure." 

Of many, angels say, " Behold, he prayeth ! " 

There's "joy in heaven," God's promises are sure. 



BEAUTIFUL NIGHT. 

' And there shall be no night there. 




H ! night so beautiful ! shall we not miss 
thee " there " ? 
The holy night that brings sweet rest from 
care, 
That draws her kindly veil o'er drooping flowers, 
That soothes to sleep the striving, tired hours ! 

Shall we not miss the planets come and go. 
As here we watch for them from sun to snow. 
The morning stars that hail the dawning light. 
The star of evening, herald of the night? 

The wayward meteors flashing to and fro, 
The steadfast stars that o'er us burn and glow. 
Old watchful Sirius sparkling like a gem, 
With all the priceless jewels of night's diadem ! 

We shall not miss the gold, the gems of day, 
For " there " our feet shall tread the shining way. 



52 BEAUTIFUL NIGHT. 

Where gates of pearl still guard the golden street, 
Where golden harps our eager ears shall greet. 

We shall not miss the flowers, for " there " we know 
Beside the " tree of life " they bloom and grow ; 
More beautiful than we have dreamed in happiest 

hours 
Are those immortal, "never-withering flowers," 

*' No night is there," for " there " they need no sleep ; 
" There labor is but rest " — " there " none may weep. 
*'Our Father's " work they do, and blest are they 

who share 
In that sweet work of ministry and care. 




"TO-MORROW." 

*' Dreaming of a to-morrow, which to-morrow 
Will be as distant then as 'tis to-day." 

OW canst thou cheat us so, 
Oh life ! as day by day and year by year 
Our thoughts move restless ever to and 
fro, 
Eager to seize the good that seems so near 
With hope's to-morrow. 

So near — and yet so far ! 
Our hand had almost grasped it one fair day, 

And still it lures us like a radiant star 
Whose light may prove that fitful, specious ray 
That leads to sorrow. 



Ah ! why not bring to-day 
The good thy mocking lips have promised long. 
Our need is sorest now — to-morrow, dost thou say,. 
Ever to-morrow ? 



54 



TO-MORRO W 



A boon may come too late, 
As light to him whose weary life had passed 

Within the dungeon's gloom, ah, cruel fate ! 
To-morrow came too late — and light at last 
Brought only sorrow. 

" To-morrow," say the weaves, 
The stormy waters will have sunk to sleep. 

To-morrow's sun will gild the peaceful graves 

Of men who now 'round camp-fires slumber deep, 

Nor fear to-morrow. 

*' To-morrow I will come " — 
Thus speaks the lover after "sweet good-night." 

To-morrow, says the mother, will my boy return 
Ah ! thus thro' life thy song though sad or bright 
Is still to-morrow. 

To-morrow ! dost thou say ? 
To-morrow ! will it bring us love or gold ? 

Art true at last — or dost thou cheat alway. 
Will all my ships come home, tho' seamed and old. 
Yet safe to-morrow ? 




ONLY A WORKER. 

We might have been ! 
" The saddest words of tongue or pen." 

|OST hopes, lost joys, lost youth ! — how wan 
it looks — 
Life, with so much of light and warmth 
gone out ; 
(We often read of such sad lives in books, 

Sometimes with tears — and oft with many a 
doubt ;) 
Yet life still lingers, though so much has gone, 

We gaze back wistful o'er the darkened scene — 
We ask, if yet our task is almost done 

We think of all we should or "might have been." 

I " might have been " a star, to throw one ray of light 
Over the darkened path of those who trod 

Through clouds and storm, still struggling through 
the night, 
Groping and searching for the way to God. 



56 ONL Y A WORKER. 

I "might have been " a poem, pure and true, 

Soothing some sorrowing heart with tender 
words — 

Bracing some sinking soul to life anew, 

Or glad'ning childhood, like the song of birds. 

I "might have been " a fountain, cool and clear, 

Such as from desert rock once freely burst, 
Where timid bird could dip without a fear. 

Or grateful travelers pause to quench their thirst. 
Emblem of purity and Truth Divine — 

What blessings could I yield to fainting men ! 
What lessons from each crystal drop should shine ! 

Lessons ne'er graved by diamond nor by pen. 

I " might have been " a flower sweet and rare, 

With beauty such as painter ne'er could plan. 
Pouring out fragrance on the unconscious air 

While wafting heavenward, praise from grateful 

man. 

I have been but a beggar — stretchmg out 

Beseeching hands, craving more love, more light 
Upon the path so rough, so hedged about 

With thorns, and often dark as starless night. 

I have been but a worker, tired and worn. 
Yet watchful ever, trembling, fearful — lest 



O.VLV A WORKER. 57 

The Master find me sleeping — when that morn 
Shall rise — where work is sweet, and labor is but 
rest. 

Accept my work, O Lord ! and if at times 

My heart shrank from the task appointed me — 

If fancy pictured brighter, softer climes 

To which, like wearied dove, I fain would flee. 

Forgive the heart that beauty loved too well, 
Found life too stern, thy world too fair for me. 

And teach that heart with grateful love to swell. 
That Thou shouidst suffer me to work for Thee. 




WHY NOT? 

" Oh, beautiful Faith, make it clear." 

ES — Faith is a beautiful vestal, 

Who comes white-robed and serene, 
When will and belief are in conflict, 
To stand as an angel between, — 
To say to the turbulent passion 

Of hearts as they chafe and they swell, 
*' Be still," — after life's fitful fever 
Believe me it all will be well. 

She stands by the shadowy valley 

Into which so bewildered we gaze. 
While we seek for our loved ones so vainly 

With eyes that would pierce thro' its maze, 
And tells us '^ the vale is not gloomy," 

The way not so weary nor long. 
That our dear ones are still very near us — 

We almost might join in their song. 



WHY NOT? ' 59 

She tells you your loved ones are happy, 

She whispers you'll meet them again, 
You believe — while you feel as you listen, 

Your heart craves them ever the same ; 
When you falter so footsore and weary 

She places a staff in your hand 
And says, "While the path may be rugged, 

It leads to a beautiful land." 

At the storm-cloud when lowest and darkest 

She gazes with uplifted eye. 
And tells you that soon in its beauty 

The rainbow will span the clear sky. 
" Be patient," 'tis but for an hour — 

The pitiless sleet and the rain — 
Ah, yes ! she can teach us to suffer, 

But, alas ! can she take away pain ? 

She brings you a cup — oh ! so bitter. 

And says, if you only will try 
To drink it without e'en a murmur, 

How sweet it will be by and by ; 
" But here," says the heart in its anguish. 

Ah ! why not be happy while here ! 
When the earth is so fair in its beauty, 

Oh, beautiful Faith, make it clear. 




FADING FIRELIGHT FANCIES. 

' ' The leaves of memory seemed to make 
A mournful rustling in the dark." 

S lonely watching by the firelight's glow, 
When night has shut out careful, restless 
day. 
Thought, like a tireless sentry, to and fro 

Treads the long round of Memory's sacred way ; 

The "via sacra," lined with tombs and graves, — 
Where sleep the buried hopes of bygone years. 

While over all Love's cherished flower still waves — 
The sweet "forget-me-not," planted with many 
tears ; 

Pleasant the hour, although I sit alone. 
And watch the fading embers slowly die. 

And hear the cricket chirp with homely tone, 
While on the wall fantastic shadows lie. 

'Tis then I dream of all that " might have been," 
And dare to dream of joys that yet might be ; 

Paint with sweet Fancy's pen each glowing scene, 
Such as Hope whispers yet might wait for me. 



FADING FIRELIGHT FANCIES. 6 1 

In that calm hour when earth-born care is still, 
To higher, purer good my thoughts aspire, 

With firm resolves that Self no more shall chill 
The warm life-current fed by Heaven's own fire : — 



Then sweet affections, which, like brooding dove, 
Nestled so closely through the prying day, 

With gentle murmurs stir the depths of love 
To throb and swell beneath their potent sway. 



Then to the heart seem absent friends more near, 
(And one we think of oft, — but seldom name,) 

While through its chambers sweeps the secret fear, 
Lest he should ne'er return to us the same. 



Sometimes beyond the fitful embers glow 
Sweet, earnest eyes, with wistful gaze I see- 

A sister's eyes looked thus long years ago — 
And now in Heaven are looking out for me. 

Fading, still fading ; — now the light is gone — 
I hear the April wind's low, sobbing cry — 

Dreaming — still dreaming-— yet I sit alone. 
While at my feet the pale, cold ashes lie. 



so LONG AGO. 

Bliss was it then to be alive, 

But to be young was very Heaven." 




OST thou remember, sweet, those careless 

days — 
The walks — the talks — our merry childish 
plays — 
So fair, so faint, through the enfolding haze 

Of long ago ? — 

Is it so long ? Why, life is short, they say — 
And sad,— ah, well ! let that be as it may, 
Sorrow at least seemed far away, that day 

So long ago. 

Hast played at hide-and-seek in grass so high — 
Hast ever seen since then so blue a sky — 
Or has it seemed so near to you and I — 

As long ago ? 

Where noisy rooks were cawing overhead, 
Under the pines one day we sat and read. 
Choosing a hero from the book — we said — 

So long ago ; 



so LONG AGO. 63 

Two Ijttle maidens free and happy quite. 
And you, — so lovely in the golden light, 
That flickered through the pines, — so warm and 
bright, 

And long ago. 

Above the brook, where loud it splashed and rang, 
Two orioles had thought their nest to hang. 
While to its rippling fall they trilled and sang 

So long ago ; 

Ah ! do they chase the pilfering blue-bird now ? 
Flashing their oriflame from bough to bough, 
Where little maidens watched with upturned brow. 

So long ago ? 

And heroes, — o'er our path hast ever strayed 
One true and noble, as — the book portrayed — 
The chosen ideal of each little maid — 

So long ago. 

The brook ne'er tired us with its rippling song. 
Though then, as now, it babbled on and on, 
Through summer days that never seemed too long, 

^o long ago. 



64 so LONG AGO. 

After a day so rounded, so complete, 
Dost thou remember how our busy feet 
Came home " so tired," and sleep was oh, so sweet. 

So long ago ? 

And how we climbed the cool grey rocks to find 
The tenderest ferns, hiding so coy behind 
From prying sunbeams — or the wooing wind 

So long ago ? 

We've climbed more rugged rocks since then, my 

sweet. 
With patient hearts still toiling up the steep. 
We never knew of bruised or wearied feet — 

So long ago. 

Dost thou remember how we w^atched the moon 
In dreamy talk on through the night's still noon, 
Till peace and rest enwrapped the shadowy room 

So long ago ? 

Or when we watched the fireflies pale and glow. 
Dodging the bats swift whirling to and fro — 
While crickets chirped their monotone so slow. 

Long, long ago ? 



65 



so LONG AGO. 

The owl that called so quaintly from the tree, 
Seemed but a jolly rogue upon a spree, 
Filling the air with weird, wild minstrelsy 

Long, long ago ; 



Is it so long ? — it seems but yesterday — 
Yet one is changed, and one grov/n sad and grey. 
Since little maidens watched the water's play — 

Long — long ago. 




A SUM IN CANCELLATION. 

A LESSON FOR FLIRTS. 

ES ! let us cancel all the debt 

That lies between us — it is best 
To square accounts before we go 
On separate paths, or — e'en to rest. 

Some songs we've sung together — and 
Some stories told — which did not lie, 

Some hieroglyphics traced in sand. 
Which none could read but you, or I. 

Some flowers have withered in our hands, 
Gathered in happy hours gone by. 

They talk of love in " eastern lands," 
With flowers which blossom but to die ; 

Some pleasant walks we can't forget — 
O'er fragrant grass in twilight hours, 

I meant to blot out all — and yet — 

Fragrance will hang 'round withered flowers. 



A SUM IN CANCELLAl'ION. 5^ 

Forget, I pray, one evening, when 

My cheek burned with a richer glow, 

The crimsoned sun was setting then 

To him that blush I well might owe. 

Some sighs and tears are laid awa}^, 

Where memory stores forbidden things, 

We need not reckon them, I hope. 

With songs, and books, and flowers— and rings ; 

You never knew how hot the tears. 

Nor weighed how heavy were the sighs. 

And should we meet in coming years 

You'll think, " how time has dimmed those eyes." 

And now our hearts stand lone and cold, 
'Twere wise to knock at Friendship's door, 

And learn of him so tried and old. 

To be but friends, and — nothing more. 



A FAREWELL TO SCHOOL-DAYS. 

CLASS SONG FOR COMMENCEMENT. 




GOLDEN years, turn back and show 

Your record fair of happy hours, 
When, gathering food for sternest need, 
We seemed, like bees, to sip from flowers. 



Far into life your promise streams, 
Shedding a light o'er paths untried ; 

While argosies of hope and trust, 
O'er life's wide ocean seem to glide. 

Sweetened by friendship's tender grace, 
A generous rival each became ; 

Such purpose high shone in each face, 
E'en emulation gave no pain. 

Forth from this day our paths diverge. 
Some leading up the mountain's steep, 

Some tending to sweet sheltered homes. 
Where all may smile and some may weep. 



A FARE WELL TO SCHOOL-DA YS. 69 

O youth's sweet spring-time, fare thee well, 
(O friends ! we part with happy tears.) 

Our future lives thy praise must tell, 
A harvest for those budding years. 

O vanished years of patient toil ! 

Youth's garnered sheaf of well-spent hours, 
The toil is all forgotten now ; 

We only see the fruit and flowers. 




SEA CHANGES. 

" O sea ! old sea ! who yet knows half of thy wonders or thy pride ! " 

H ! the tribute that the sea brings 
As lavishly each wave flings 
Some dainty weed or blossom upon the 
tide-washed sand ; 
From every white-fringed swell 
Is flung a tinted shell, 
To hide in nook or crevice for childhood's eager 
hand. 

Oh ! the beauty that the sea holds ! 

While jealously each wave folds 

Within its swelling bosom the dainty fragile things ; 

Now shines a crimson star, 

Or iridescent spar, 
While tiny univalves float by on grey and silver 
wings. 

What changes doth the sea bring ! 
Not poesy's imagining 

Could from decay such beauty, such wondrous 
things evoke ; 



SEA CHANGES. 



71 



If mermaids weep, we know 
There pearls and amber grow, 
And lofty coral islands rise where tiny insects work. 

Oh ! the beauty that the sea holds ! 
Where lovingly its arm folds 

Around some spicy island where nods the plumy 
palm ; 
Where leaping waves are bright 
With phosphorescent light, 
And glides the fairy nautilus through waters soft 
and calm. 

What marvels doth the sea show, 
As to and fro the tides flow, 

Responsive to the lady moon who looks so calm 
below ; 
Where quivering waters greet 
Her glance so bright and sweet. 
While throbs her pulse in measure to the water's 
ebb and flow. 

Oh ! the stories that the sea tells ! 

While back and forth each wave swells, 

Revealing to the sunlight some secret kept for years ; 



72 



SEA CHANGES. 



A briny, broken spar 
Drifts by from shores afar, 
Where treacherous rocks were hiding — cruel as 
siren's tears. 

Oh ! sadly doth the sea moan ! 
While breaking 'round some grey stone, 
A sentinel above the spot where once a ship went 
down ; 
The rock, so stern and cold, 
Heeds not the requiem old, 
The moving sea seems pitiful — the rock can only 
frown. 

Above the wreck the sea rolls, 

While surging waves the bell tolls, 

Heard only by the mermaid within her crystal cave, 

Where coral forests grow, 

Spreading their fronds of snow, 
And no disturbing billows reach that quiet ocean 
grave. 




A GARNERED SHEAF. 

HAD a dream — it boots not how, 
Or why, or where, it came to me, 

Its gladness lingers o'er me now. 
Its glowing radiance still I see. 



Within its promise care ne'er came. 
Nor dark suspicion e'^rhad birth, 

For like the bird of eastern fame. 

Its joyous flight scarce touched the earth. 

I know it brightened many an hour 

That else had been both dark and cold. 

And wakened many a wayside flower 
That else had slept beneath the mold. 

And sweeter grew the songs I sung 

As spring-time swells the wild bird's strain. 

And though above me clouds still hung, 
I saw the rainbow, not the rain. 



74 



A GARNERED SHEAF. 

It fell upon my heart like dew, 
The awak'ning I can ne'er regret, 

For though its blissful hours were few, 
Their memory lingers with me yet. 

The dream whose lines were once so bright 
Has vanished with the summer's leaves ; 

While hopes which bloomed in summer's light 
Are garnered with my autumn sheaves 



BROWN STUDIES P^OR NOVEMBER'S 
EASEL. 




LOSED is the brilliant pageant of the slowly 

passing year, 
Her scarlet banners float no more o'er wood- 
land far and near ; 
Worn nature dons her russet hood and throws her 

garlands down, 
While shrunken lie her summer springs and " all her 
fields are brown." 

Where once our eyes were gladdened by the fresh 

and nodding grain, 
The long, brown furrow naked lies, beneath the 

falling rain ; 
Through all the melancholy days the heavens wear 

a frown. 
While shrunken are our summer springs, and "all 

our fields are brown." 



^6 BROWN STUDIES. 

O'er distant hills of sombre tint the crafty sports- 
man strays, 

Tracking the shy, brown rabbit home, close hiding 
from his gaze ; 

Heavily falls the autumn haze enfolding wood and 
town, 

Where summer springs are shrunken and '' fields 
are bare and brown." 

In golden brown the partridge gleans the field for 
scattered seed, 

Fleeing for safety through the brush or in the tan- 
gled weed ; 

While noisy, happy school-boys shake the prickly 
chestnut doAvn, 

We mourn our summer springs so dry and "fields 
so bare and brown." 

His glossy plume of golden brown, the tiny chip- 
munk waves, 

While the acorn and the beechnut with cunning 
care he saves ; 

Beneath the oak, in simple trust, he lays his treas- 
ure down. 

While we, — alas ! " our springs are dry, and all our 
fields are brown." 



BROWN STUDIES. yy 

The mocking jay flits by us as we bind our meagre 

sheaves, 
With trembling hearts we listen to the rustle of the 

leaves, 
For under leaves so sere and brown we laid our 

treasures down 
And know " our summer springs are dry and all our 

fields are brown." 




AN OCTOBER PICTURE. 

HERE the pale shadows are stealthily grop- 
ing 
Over the lawn to the near woodland sloping, 
Stands a tall aster in purple most royal, 
Still to the late autumn sunshine so loyal. 
Many a daintier flower has perished. 
Blossoms the dew and the sunshine had cherished, 
While still o'er the aster the butterflies hover. 
From forest and meadow comes each little rover, 
The dainty white butterfly. 
The silver-winged butterfly. 
And still through the haze 
Of autumn's soft days, 
Around the tall aster the butterfly plays. 

Flower and foliage are fading and dying, 
October breezes are plaintively sighing, 
Filling the air with a requiem tender, 
Bearing from woodland its tribute of splendor. 
Over and over repeating the story, 
Summer is passed with its beauty and glory ; 



AA^ OCTOBER PICTURE. 79 

Yet staunch to the last, the aster looks cheery, 
While tiny, brave butterflies never grow weary. 

The frail tiny butterfly, 

The gay summer butterfly. 

Through the gathering haze 

Of late autumn days 
Around the tall aster still flutters and plays. 

These pictures so fair, are sweet to remember 
When autumn's grey light grows dark w^th De- 
cember, 
When through the chill air no bee shall be hum- 
ming : 
Nor silvery wing to the aster be coming : 
For stark on the lawn, bereft of its glory, 
Its brovv^n withered leaf will tell the sad story. 
That the winter of life will be darksome and dreary 
When fond waiting hearts grow wistful and weary 
While watching for white wings. 
The vanishing bright wings. 
And peer through the haze 
Of life's tangled maze. 
For a gleam of the wings now passed from their 
gaze. 




WAITING. 

HE leafless vines creak against the pane, 
While close and steadily droppeth the rain, 
Back to my heart creeps the old dull pain 
As the night falls drearily. 



The weird wind moans 'round the turret wall. 
The branches groan while the dead leaves fall, 
But I hear my heart beat above it all 

As the hours pass heavily. 

On my lonely hearth the fire burns low, 

The clock ticks ceaselessly to and fro, 

I can count each throb of my heart as slow 

W^anes the night, and wearily. 

The lamp burns dimly, the shadows grow 
So weird and so huge in the embers' glow, 
While my heart grows chill as the winter's snow, 
" Waiting " so wearily. 




DOWN THE RIVER. 

LIDING down the river 
By the silent sh(3re 
Where the aspens quiver 

To the mill's dull roar, 
Past the silent traveller 

Dreaming on his way, 
Past the noisy children 

Laughing at their play. 
Now the sparkling shallows 

Gurgle as they leap, 
Now its soothing murmur 

Lulls you into sleep. 
O'er the pool so glassy 

Where the minnows leap, 
Where the hillsides grassy 

O'er its mirror creep, 
Where the gloomy narrows. 

Rock-bound, stern and high 
Frown away the sunshine 

Peeping from the sky. 



82 DOWN THE RIVER. 

Through the forest swelling 

Where the wild birds drink 
Near the woodman felling 

Trees upon its brink. 
Now it broadens slowly 

Through the meadows where 
Lilies nod so queenly 

In the scented air, 
So still, we hear the rustle 

Of leaves when scarcely stirred 
Now in the city's bustle 

Its dash is seldom heard. 
By the hut so lowly 

On pampas lone and wide 
[t gathers while it broadens 

To meet the ocean's tide. 




REMEMBERED, YET FORGOTTEN. 

" The sensuous beauty that enslaves." 

HERE shall we meet — and how? 
We who once loved so fondly and so well — 
Nor dreamed of change — and now 
Love's requiem plaint each throbbing heart may 
tell ; 

Thy path lies far away 
Across the waters in the land of song, 

While weaker grow each day 
The ties so cherished once, and deemed so strong. 

I stand upon the sand- 
Gazing upon the far, receding wave, — 

Hastening to kiss the land 
Whose beauty binds thee — a too willing slave ; 

Over whose sunny lands 
The south wind woos the amorous grape. 

Where girls with wine-stained hands 
After the vintage toil their vigils make. 



34 



REMEMBERED. YE T FOR GOT TEN. 



By some lone way-side shrine, 
Graced by a sad Madonna, — mossed and grey, — 

In that sweet vesper time — 
Where all is beauty — even thou must pray. 

Thy longing heart is filled 
With sensuous beauty of the richest hue. 

While love's warm pulse is chilled — 
That purer love thy better nature knew. 

In halls where jealous art 
Hath stored its treasures — there you sit and dream, 

Till from those dreams you start. 
As eyes which tell of mine from some fair picture 
gleam. 

The pulse of lofty aim, 
Which throbbed with life's true purpose full and 
strong. 

Now starts with fitful pain — 
And wakes — to sleep again, — lulled by the siren's 
song. 

Where shall we meet ? — and how ? 
As friends or strangers ? — strange we are in truth ; 



REMEMBERED, YET EORGOTTEIV. 

Thy inner life is now 
No more the echo of my earnest, trusting youth. 

As the receding wave 
Returns no more across the storm-tossed main, 

Since love has found its grave. 
Return not thou — we can not meet again. 



85 




TO A YOUNG FRIEND 

Who for several years sent the writer a lovely Christmas present. 

HY Santa Claus should pictured be 

A homely, weird-like elf, 
When each year he appears to me 
As lovely as yourself, — 

No visage burly, bluff and old, 
Crowned with long locks of snow. 

But one with braids of brown and gold. 
Where roses come and go. 

With eyes so brown, so soft, so bright. 
We well might say, ^' Take care," 

Did not their rays of purest light 
Reveal a soul as fair. 



TO A FRIEND 

ON HER WEDDING DAY. 

jWEET moon of May, bring gentle gales 
^,^ To waft thee o'er a summer sea, 

"^ ^^ 1 On w^hich, with palpitating sails, 

The bark of Love now w^aits for thee. 

With sweetest flowers perfume the air, 
Filling those sails so pure and white, 

On Heavenly shores a home prepare, 

When sails are furled and falls the night. 

Fall, passing clouds, in happy tears, 
And gently weep yourselves away, 

Nor shadow o'er with drooping fears 
The radiant promise of To-day. 



TWILIGHT VOICES. 



L»JMU»i|iOW the chorus of twihght our weary hearts 
greet, 
The cricket chirps low in the grass at our 
feet, 
The robin is calling from shrub and from tree. 
The garden breathes perfume — come, walk there 
with me. 

A spirit of rest seems to steal o'er the land, 

Like the cool, soothing touch of a dear mother's 

hand. 
While welcome night droppeth her grey mantle 

down 
On dry, drooping fields and the dust-curtained town. 

The tired child nestles, and sinks to its sleep 
As the mother's sweet lullaby swells soft and deep. 
Of twilight's sweet voices the purest is hers, 
For emotions so holy no other voice stirs. 



TWILIGHT VOICES. 89 

The reapters are singing as homeward they come, 
Their song in the distance seems like the low hum 
Of the murmuring waves, that break evermore 
On the low-lying sands, or the rocky-crowned shore. 

Talk not of myself, tho' it pleases thee best, 
To-night I should Vv^ish each emotion to rest. 
Let my restless heart sink to a passionless sleep, 
Let no ghost of the past from its recesses creep. 

You may talk of your future — of mine not a word : 
'Twere wiser to speak of the flower and the bird ; 
I live in the present, I dare not to dream, 
The star of hope sheds for me scarcely a beam. 

Yes, bright are your hopes — yet the future lies dim, 
And seems far away — tho' its shadows begin 
To stretch o'er your pathway, I pray they may be 
But the semblance of real joys, waiting for thee. 

With its wealth of pure blossoms, so starry and 

white. 
The jasmine is lavish of fragrance to-night. 
Which the wooing wind roguishly steals from the 

tree, 
And takes lovers' toll between whispers, you see. 



QO TWILIGHT VOICES. 

Now the moon rises slowly and shines on the tree, 
On leaf and on flower, on you and on me. 
Of which will you dream ? ah ! do not say so ; 
We're to talk but of nature's still beauties, you know. 



See ! our path has grown brighter, 'tis moonlight's 

soft glow ; 
Yes, my heart has grown lighter ; dear friend, you 

must go. 
Just walk to the spot where the moon falls so bright, 
And there we must part with — a careless good-night. 




THE CONFESSIONAL. 

PEN, O heart ! thy closest-chambered cell, 
Whose warm and crimsoned draperies rise 
and fall, 

Swayed by the surging of each throb and swell 
Of pleasure or of pain, — or sweet emotion, all 
The hopes that gild with promise youth's bright 

day, 
And all the fears, whose throbbings warn us of 
decay 

Open, and hide within thy inmost cell 

Forbidden yearnings and each fond desire. 

Each aspiration after good, which blighted fell 
Like summer buds, kissed by the sun's fierce fire, 

Each budding hope chilled by the icy breath 

Of an unanswering heart, or one grov/n cold in 
death. 

And oh ! if e'er by hurtful passions swayed. 
If to vain dreams we gave too fond a sigh, 



Q2 THE CONFESSIONAL. 

If lured by sin in specious charms arrayed, 

Oh, veil the stain from all, save His kind, pitying 

eye. 
Who, from the fount of mercy's boundless store. 
Said, " Neither do I condemn thee ; go and sin no 

more ! " 



On the unveiling of the beautiful bronze fountain — cast in Munich, and 
presented to the City of Cincinnati by Henry Probasco. 

"One whose name was writ in water." 

— Keats. 




HESE were the sadly-spoken words 
Of one whose song was like the birds'- 
Soaring while singing ; 



Nor dreamed how bright his name should glow, 
While shines the sun or falls the snow, 
The seasons bringing. 

Oh ! city of the golden West, 
His fame shall ever firmly rest 

As rock or mountain, 
AVhile flowing water, pure and free. 
Shall tell of him who gave to thee 

This noble fountain. 

Its sparkling waters cool and clear 
Shall soothe and charm each w^eary ear ; 

While upward springing, 
Backward with joyous splash to fall, 
A cooling, grateful draught to all 

Forever bringing. 



94 NAME WRITTEN IN VVA TER. 

Emblem of truth, pure and divine, 
For ages may thy waters shine 

In joyous duty ; 
Where weary men may freely drink. 
Pausing erewhile to gaze, and think 

Of thy rare beauty. 

Far in the long ago, a woman frail 
Came to a well — so reads the tale — 

For water only. 
There, resting by the mossy brink, 
Sat One, who said, " Give Me to drink "— 

A traveller lonely. 

Then to her wondering, eager ear 
He told of " living waters " clear. 

Flowing forever ; 
That those who drank should ne'er again 
Know thirst, or weariness, or pain, 

Never ! oh, never ! 

May each and all some truth'here find. 
While hope and faith in humankind, 

'Tis ever saying ; 
Its music falls on grateful ears, 
Its work through all the coming years 

Is ceaseless //<«j7>^o-. 



NAME WRITTEN IN WATER. 95 

And thus, in water let his name 
Sparkle with ever-growing fame, 

And tell the story, — 
How well he loved his fellow-man, 
How beautiful the thought to plan 

This thing of glory. 

More eloquent than marble cold. 
More rhythmical than woids of gold. 

Its murmurs ever 
In liquid music's tinkling fall. 
Will speak to every heart, while all 

Will bless the giver. 




A CLIMB 

TO THE SUMMIT OF MT. WACHUSETT. 

OU will surely remember that morning so 
bright, 
When the mountain breeze woo'd ias to 
climb to its height, 
Where the sky brooded o'er it as warm and as blue 
As the eye we most love, ever tender and true — 
''Only climb to the summit," thus promised our 

guide, 
"The view is entrancing — so varied, so wide ! " 

The morning dew still sparkled over the lawn, 
While the guests at the ''Mountain House" talked 

" pro and con." 
Some feared the day promised to be very hot, 
Others thought it might rain — some were sure it 

would not. 
One suggested warm wraps at "the top" would be 

needed. 
And counselled stout shoes — which advice was well 

heeded. 



A CLIMB. 



97 



Soon all these affairs were most wisely adjusted, 
And a stout staff procured, whose support could be 

trusted, 
A needed companion — no one should refuse it 
Who v/ishes to climb to the top of Wachusett ; 
While our leader decided — his plans were well laid — 
That in walking for pleasure, no haste should be 

made. 

Our first halt was called where the "old maples" 

stood 
Shading dry mossy rocks, — near the edge of a wood. 
For the rains had been copious, and rivulets still 
Trickled over the meadow quite at their sweet will ; 
Little water sprites running away from the fountain. 
We fancied lay hid near the crest of the mountain. 

Our spirits rose high — bright thoughts like a ball 
Quite merrily bounded to each and from all. 
Some wittily praising the staff, true and tough. 
While threading the pathway so rocky and rough, 
And how grateful were all for the rocks cool and 

grey, 
Where we rested by times on our slippery way. 

We gathered fair flowers of every hue — 
Found mosses, and berries of scarlet and blue, 
7 



q8 a climb. 

We sat on a log deeply buried in ferns, 

While we talked of Longfellow and Bryant and 

Burns. 
Thus sped the bright moments as upward we went, 
Till we reached the stone cottage that crowns the 
ascent. 



There Monadnock confronts you, so dreamy and 

blue, 
His giant dome adding a charm to the view. 
Whose outline of beauty shows wondrously clear 
'Gainst the blue arch of heaven, so far, yet so near. 
Reflected from lakelets half hidden in green. 
With tiny toy villages nestling between. 

The "White Hills " are seen like the dream of a 

cloud ; 
We fear to dispel them by speaking aloud, 
And tenderly name them, far off in the haze, 
As we speak of some dear one just passed from our 

gaze. 
While hushed is our breathing and dim grows the 

eye, 
As we turn from those peaks pointing still to the 

sky. 



A CLIMB. gg 

There are moments in life where our thoughts love 

to rest, 
As we rested that day on that fair mountain's crest, 
Where the outlook of life grows more boundless and 

free, 
As that scene seemed to stretch even out to the sea. 
A delectable mount it must ever remain — 
Though I never may see its green summit again. 



LAST HOURS OF DAVID LIVINGSTONE. 




JUNGLE wild on Afric's soil, a brazen sky 
o'erhead, 
I A group of savage, dusky men around a 
dying bed, 
Where lay a gaunt and wasted form upon a couch 

so rude, 
Ah ! death ne'er found so rich a prize in that vast 
solitude. 

I am dying, fateful river — the dews are gathering 

fast. 
Oh, siren of my youthful dreams, I've sought thee to 

the last ; 
Yet, far away eluding still thy phantom fountains 

lie, 
A mirage gleaming fitfully before my glazing eye. 

Oh ! mystic, mocking siren, I have borne thy fetters 

long. 
Hugging the chain that bound me as I listened to 

thy song, 



LAST HO URS OF DA VID LI VINGS TONE. \ q i 

Leadiijg me still with promise fair, that soon my 

wistful ear 
Should catch the rippling music of thy waters, cool 

and clear. 

Across the desert's glaring sands, where fierce the 

sunbeams beat, 
Through many a swamp and dark lagoon where 

broods the tropic's heat. 
Through haunts where deadly reptiles glide, or 

where the bitterns scream. 
With weary feet I've sought thy source — oh ! river 

of my dream. 

Where the pursuer hunts the slave, poor dusky child 

of woe, 
I, searching for thy mystic fount, have wandered to 

and fro ; 
On glittering summit does it lie — or in some crystal 

lake? 
Ah ! death were welcome if I there this burning 

thirst could slake. 

Oh ! bright, illusive fountain, I have seen thee in 

my dreams, 
Where feathery palms are bending low, thy rippling 

water gleams. 



102 LAST HOURS OF DA VID LIVINGSTONE. 

Alas ! before, behind me, lie cruel, scorching sands — 
Oh ! for one moment in thy wave to lave these 
fevered hands. 



AVe read the storied tablets where Karnak's temples 
stand. 

We know why Memnon's music ripples o'er the 
shifting sand — 

Rosetta's stone her secrets yield of Egypt's won- 
drous lore — 

Thy secret, mighty river, still baffles as of yore ! 

Oh ! cold and grey and far away, I know the granite 
rocks 

Are cradled where the heather dips in cool, seques- 
tered locks. 

Would I could climb once more those rocks, and feel 
the mountain air 

Blow o'er my brow caressingly, to lift my clammy 
hair. 

Those purple hills of Scotland are cool with falling 

mist — 
Where, strolling through the heather bloom, I kept 

a lover's tryst ; 



LAST HO URS OF DA VID LI VINGS TONE. 1 03 

Or where, in happy childhood, I climbed their rug- 
ged side. 

Searching through fern and bracken, where timid 
rabbits hide. 



I loved the hills, the heather, I loved the yellow 
broom, 

I loved the mavis' singing above the heather bloom ; 

But sweeter was the siren's voice, and fair her beck- 
oning hand. 

That lured me from my rugged home, my beau- 
teous native land. 

I am dying, fateful river — thou hast lured me to 
my doom, 

Weird spirit of the desert, e'er wrapped in mist and 
gloom. 

Yet hark ! I hear, I see again the ripple of thy smile. 

Farewell, old Pharaoh's wondrous stream, oh ! mys- 
tic, mighty Nile. 




AMERICA TO PRUSSIA :— GREETING. 

ON THE MARRIAGE OF PRINCE DE LYNAR TO 
MISS MAY PARSONS. 

Prince De L servedjas Colonel on the staff of the Emperor William 

during the war between France and Prussia. Soon after its termination 
he was married, in Columbus, Ohio, to the beautiful Miss Parsons. 

NOTHER triumph — O victorious realm ! 

Thy princes mighty are in love and war — 
From grand old Kaiser William at the helm, 
To him who robs us of our brightest star ; 

Room in your princely courts ! — she goes a queen 
From our broad realm beside the western sea, 

A land where all our loveliest have ever been 

Queens of our hearts and hom-es — and e'er will be ; 

Once in the long ago, from our fair land 

There went a princess reared in sylvan glade. 

Old haughty England took her by the hand. 
Nor scorned her simple guise — her dusky shade. 



AMERICA TO PRUSSIA :— GREETING. 



05 



Long was the voyage from her birchen bower 
Where her free childhood passed in happy sport. 

Sad the transplanting of this wildwood flower 
To stately garden and to gilded court ; 

How changed is all since then, — nor far away 

Seems our fair bride's new home across the brine, 

Steam speeds us o'er the sea — and lightnings play 
That we may talk to friends beyond the Rhine. 

O beauteous storied Rhine ! how many tears 
Thy rushing waves have carried in their flow, 

How oft thy castled crags thro' bygone years 
Have gazed on armies surging to and fro ; 

Now forth from pictured crag and knightly tower 
Peace smiling waves her olive branch once more. 

We send to grace your triumph one rare flower 
And add new beauty to your sunlit shore. 



ONLY A WOMAN, WOMANLY. 




HE was not very beautiful, nor was she very 

wise, 
No brilliant sarcasm curled the lip, or flash- 
ed from daring eyes ; 
Those earnest, quiet eyes revealed a spirit firm and 

true, 
A woman, very womanly, was all she seemed to you. 



She did not dazzle you with wit, nor silence you 
with words, 

Like " silver " was her gentle speech, its music like a 
bird's ; 

And when she sometimes silent sat, as was her own 
sweet will, 

That "golden silence" more than words your wait- 
ing soul could fill. 

She did not sing like Nilsson, — yet oft at eventide 
Her songs were still the sweetest charm around the 
fireside ; 



'' ONLY A WOMAN, WOMANLVr 137 

For pure and tender was her voice, its soft persua- 
sive tone 

Could lure the erring wanderer to think of friends 
at home. 

" Only a woman, womanl)'," no angel with bright 

wings, 
To soar above us in our need, disdaining earthly 

things ; 
Just v/ise enough for counsel, gentle, yet brave to 

share 
Your hopes, your fears, your sorrows, your triumph 

and your care. 



THE TEMPTATION ! 



py||!T all comes back again ! 

Youth with its radiance and itsMewy'_bloom, 
Its pleasure, its sweet pain 



Steal o'er my senses like a sweet perfume. 

Once more I sit and dream, 
While wistful fancies into being start, 

And hopes are stirred which seem 
Bright as once nestled in my youthful heart ; 

Once more the rosy flush 
Mantles my cheek so long grown cold and pale, 

Once more through twilight's hush 
Unbidden thoughts my waking heart assail ; 

Once more the radiant light. 
The light that never was on sea or shore, 

Returns to cheat my sight, 
While reason whispers — never, never more ; 

Reason, my friend — I greet. 
Let thy cool touch fall on my throbbing brain, 

Schooling my heart to beat 
With steadied pulse across life's dusty plain ; 



THE TEMPTATION, 



109 



And lead my fancy where 
Upon the desert sands a fountain gleams, 

Whose source is poesy's — ah ! there 
I'll quench the yearning for youth's vanished 
dreams. 

Duty ! to thee I turn, 
Unbending monitor whose bidding I obey, 

Issue thy mandate stern, 
Call home those thoughts which all too fondly 
stray. 

Mirror ! whose flattering tale 
Once pleased my fancy with each brilliant hue. 

Thy glance is sad and pale, 
Thou canst not cheat me now — at last thou'rt true. 

As now with kindly hand 
Thou show'st a rippling thread of silver white. 

Amid the soft brown band 
That graced my brow with glints of sunny light. 

Back, back, seducing dream ! 
My friends have kinder been ; I bid you go — 

On Reason's arm I lean, 
And tread life's dusty path once more with pulses 
slow. 




LISTEN ! 

A PLEA FOR THE ORPHAN'S HOME. 

HEN the toiling day is over, 

Through the closing shadows see 
Many tired footsteps passing — 
" Coming home " to you or me. 
Warmer, brighter grows the firelight, 

Eager little faces wait 
By the window through the twilight, 
Watching for the open gate. 

Little cheeks so soft and rosy 

Nestle in a fond embrace. 
Resting by the fireside cosy — 

Lighter grows the weary face. 
Thank our God such homes are many, 

Homes of love so pure and sweet — 
E'en the angels bending lowly. 

Feel their hearts with pleasure beat. 

Turning oft with tender pity 
To the many cheerless homes 

Scattered through our busy city. 
Where no loving father comes, 



LISTEN! Ill 

Where no wise and patient mother 

Waits to welcome aching feet, 
Helpless still and wandering ever 

Up and down our noisy street. 

Listen to the angel's story, 

As I heard him tell the tale 
Through the wakeful night so lonely, 

Till the morning star grew pale ; 
Soft and low as sweetest music, 

Bending o'er me lovingly, 
Fathers, mothers, listen kindly 

To the tale he told to me : 



" Helpless little feet are straying 

Ever from the Father's fold. 
Friendless little lips are praying — 

Shelter us from want and cold. 
Pleading eyes to you are turning. 

Asking for your help and care, 
Starving little souls are yearning. 

Woman's tender love to share. 

'^ Little hands that should be learning 
Labor's honest gains to win. 



112 LISTEN! 

Soon their wages will be earning 
In the smoother walks of sin ; 

Helpful hands and hearts are needing 
Helpless hands to guide and teach, 

Sore and trampled hearts are bleeding- 
Let their wrongs your pity reach." 



MISSION WORK" FOR YOU AND FOR 
ME. 

" Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these." 




S I sauntered 'round the city 

One autumn afternoon, 
I missed the summer breezes, 
I missed the summer's bloom, 
While the ladies clad in velvet 
And in furs so rich and rare 
Passed by me on the plaza 

Near the homely market square ; 



While the carriages rolled softly 

They missed no summer bloom, 
Wrapped in their robes so costly. 

That wintry afternoon ; 
There I met some little maidens 

Thinly and poorly clad, 
For their summer garments lingered 

Tho' the summer's bloom had fled. 

8 



114 



''MISSION IVORKr 

And as I walked I wondered 

Why I that day should meet 
So many children speeding 

Along that homely street. 
Said I, '' My little maiden, 

What brings you all this way, 
So many half-clad children 

This chilly autumn day?" 

" Oh ! don't you know, dear lady," 

The little maiden said — 
(The child so like a picture. 

With the kerchief on her head, 
While the happy, careless women 

Went rolling softly by, 
Feeling no chilling breezes, 

Heeding no wintry sky) ; 

" There's a room so warm and cheerful 

Where the pretty ladies meet 
To work for we poor children 

Who wander 'round the street ; 
They give us nice warm clothing 

Which they teach us how to make. 
They love the poor and friendless, 

Love them for Jesus' sake. 



115 



''MISSION IVORKr 

*' He loved the little children 

These dear, good ladies say. 
They often tell us of Him, 

And teach us how to pray ; 
I'm sure He loves our teachers, 

Who are so kind and good, 
So patient with poor children 

Who oft are rough and rude. 

"But do you think, dear lady. 

That Santa Claus will know 
Of all these friendly ladies. 

Of me and Susie Snow ? 
I think he knew one Christmas, 

One cold and snowy day. 
Before my own dear mother died 

Or father went away. 



' But I quite forgot to tell you 

Of the very nicest thing : 
How we feel so very happy 

When we stand up to sing. 
While the music plays so sweetly, 

While the room looks warm and bright 
We quite forget the winter, 

And our cheerless homes at night. 



1 6 ''MISSION woi^xr 

"We sing of 'precious jewels,' 

' Bright gems for Jesus' crown,' 
For even friendless children 

The Saviour calls ' His own '; 
Just now we all are learning 

A lovely Christmas hymn, 
But here we are, dear lady, 

Will you come and hear us sing ? 




JENNIE'S TROUSSEAU. 

OVE sits at the helm, dearest Jennie, 

Of the bark we are freighting for thee, 
He has played on the shore with your 
childhood, 
And will sail with you out to the sea. 

He will see that the sails are trimmed lightly, 
That the waters flow smoothly and clear, 

That the star of hope shines for you brightly, 
Dispelling all doubt and all fear. 

He has searched for the sweetest of flowers, 
Whose beauty for you must be shed, 

While blessings as soft as spring showers 
Will fall on your bridal-wreathed head ; 

He has gathered soft lace to enfold you, 

With shawls from old India's loom, 
Brought gems of the purest and rarest. 

In caskets of choicest perfume. 



1 8 JENNIE'S TROUSSEAU. 

And amid all this beautiful dower 
Has crept in my offering — a book ; 

It will, like the modest spring flower, 
Be grateful for only a — look. 

So with "sweets to the sweet," dearest Jennie, 

With love to our loveliest one. 
We must shed one fond tear as we watch you 

Outward-bound toward life's setting sun. 



A RECIPE. 

Written in Washington for The Sunday Morning Herald. 




AKE a handful " of writers — a soup con of 

thinkers, 
Who, of waters Pierian would fain seem 

deep drinkers, 
A professor or two of the corps scientific. 
Who talk of Mars' moons with a joy beatific — 
Sure no other savant can steal our Hall's thunder, 
And know that " our lens " is the world's latest 

wonder ; 
A collector or so who has been quite a rover, 
(To find a rare bug one will search the world over), 
Or, if shells be the hobby, will talk you to slumber 
Of " Univalves, bivalves," or valves without number ; 
Some writers of verses who might think it treason 
Should one praise the rhyme nor fathom the reason. 
Without ^' rhyme or reason " smooth verses give 

pleasure, 
When read by sweet lips while resting at leisure 
On satin fauteuils in salons literary. 
Where culture and taste meet, to cry admirari ; — 



120 ^ RECIPE. 

A fair dame or two with whom art is a passion, 
One or more of the ton to make it the fashion, 
With a few extra wise ones who sneer at light 

dances, 
Yet sit thro' the " sma' hours " conning romances ; 
And some, too, alas ! who waste midnight tapers 
While writing ''society gossip " for papers, — 
How bonny Miss Gwendoline dressed at " the ger- 

man," 
Or how some " superb Madame " wore queenly er- 
mine ; — 
A traveller sometimes is received as a godsend, 
With items quite fresh from the far-away world*s 

end, 
Thus furnishing topics for sprightly discussion — 
Of Greek or of Turk, or the too haughty Russian. 
Since all things come up that are on the world's 

tapis — 
Art, science, or pottery, each make them happy ; 
These wise ones in conclave, whose meetings are 

weekly. 
My recipe see — which I offer quite meekly. 
The ingredients are found — while mixing be wary. 
If you'd have in perfection — A Club Literary. 



PATRIOTIC 



TO "THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER." 

Written on the first " Fourth of July" following the passage by Con- 
gress of "The Fifteenth Amendment." 




LOAT proudly, O beautiful banner, to-day ! 
Let each glorious star flash with truth's 
brightest ray. 
You are true to yourself, to your home, to the world, 
While all are now free where your stripes are un- 
furled — 
''For the 'star-spangled banner' in triumph doth 

wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave." 

Your folds have been cleansed both by blood and 

by fire, 
You have draped for the grave, son, brother, and 

sire ; 
Their lives they gave freely to save you from sham a 
Float proudly, O banner, they died not in vain — 
For " the star-spangled banner can now indeed wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave." 



24 



TO " THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER: 



Near the walls of proud Sumter you once were 

hurled down 
And trampled in dust with a jeer and a frown, 
A once noble name was thus tainted with shame, 
While pure and unsullied our flag floats again ; 
Oh ! long may the star-spangled banner thus wave, 
Where none dare be a tyrant, none need be a slave. 

Droop a moment in sadness o'er Hampton's clear 

wave. 
Where the Cumberland sank with the noble and 

brave, 
While long o'er the wreck waved your colors so true 
Ere they went to their rest in the waters so blue. 
Float proudly, O banner ! o'er land and o'er sea, 
For the home of the brave is the home of the free. 

And over the valleys where thickly are spread 
The green-curtained tents which shelter our dead. 
They sleep from the homes of their kindred afar. 
They died, that your beauty should not lose a star, 
That throughout every land, over mountain and sea, 
You should ever be hailed as the flag of the free. 

And far in the West droop low o'er the grave 
Where rests the best friend of the master and slave, 



TO " THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER." 125 

Who, ''with love toward all, and with malice to 

none," 
Struggled bravely to keep us still "many in one." 
He died, that the star-spangled banner should wave 
Over none but the free in the home of the brave. 



Shjne brightly, O stars ! from your field of true 

blue. 
Now the word and the boast of your country is true ; 
Fling wide your broad stripes over mountain and 

sea, 
For the land you protect is the home of the free. 
And oh ! may the star-spangled banner long wave 
O'er "the land of the free and the home of the 

brave." 




A NATION'S BIRTHDAY. 

Air — " Sta7'-Spa7tgled Bamic}-.'*'' 

LL hail to the day when our flag was un- 
furled, 
And the story was told of the birth of a 
nation ; 
When our glorious stars first shone on the world, 
As the morning stars shone at the dawn of 
creation, 
When first to the light, over valley and height, 
In its beauty and grace waved our banner so bright ; 
And we'll hallow forever as sacred the morn 
When the story was told that a nation was born. 

No hand waved in triumph, no shouts rent the air, 
Though grand was the scene when the purpose 
was uttered ; 
The deed so momentous was hallowed by prayer, 
While afar o'er the waters war's thunderings mut- 
tered. 



A NA TION ' S BIR THDA Y. 127 

But firmer they grew — for dauntless and true 
Were the men who first pledged to the Red, White 

and Blue ; 
And freemen will hallow forever the morn 
When the story was told that a nation was born. 

No cheek blanched with fear, for to do or to die 

Was each stern resolve at the Nation's baptism ; 
While firm was the hand and undaunted each eye. 
As they poured o'er their honor truth's holiest 
chrism, 
For earnest and brave were the men who thus gave 
All the hopes that were dearest man's birthright to 

save ; 
And freemen should hallow as sacred the morn 
When the story was told that a nation was born. 

Long, long was the conflict and sharp was the pain, 
While their trust was in God through the sorest 
affliction ; 

And still as forever it proved not in vain, 

For peace came at last with its sweet benediction. 

Wave proudly, ye stars ! bright and glorious stars ! 

We'll welcome the day with a thousand huzzas ; 

For freemen forever should hallow the morn 

When the story was told that a nation was born. 




AN ODE. 

FOR DECORATION DAY. 
Sung at Green Lawn Cemetery, Columbus, O., May 30, 1871. 
Tune — "■ Scotts w/ia //^^," eic. 
S to this spot our steps we turn, 
With love each patriot heart should burn, 
While nameless grave and blazoned urn 
We deck with tender care. 

The past no nobler cause can show. 
For truth and right they dealt each blow. 
And died while struggling with the foe. 

To leave their fame our care. 

Bring flowers of rarest form and hue, 
Of purest white — of tenderest blue ; 
The sod that wraps the brave and true 

Must be fair woman's care. 

For that grand cause how woman prayed, 
What sacrifices nobly made. 
Trusting — though trembling and afraid — 
In God's great love and care. 



AJV ODE. 

Ta tell the deeds of heroes brave, 

Who strove their land from crime to save, 

And even life so freely gave. 

Should be the minstrels' care. 

And still, while o'er those hearts, so true, 
The turf is green — the skies are blue, 
To deck with flowers of rarest hue — 

Will be each patriot's care. 



29 




BRING FLOWERS. 

" Yes, Honor decks the turf that wraps their clay." 

ROM spring to spring the long grass waves, 
Its tender green is seen by few, 

The bending sky smiles brightly down, 
With none to mark how soft its blue ; 



The robin plumes his crimson breast — 
His vesper song rings sweet and clear. 

Through the long day the brown thrush sings- 
With none to lend a listening ear ; 

Yet this lone spot of nameless graves 

Is guarded by a nation's care, 
By grateful hands its sod was laid, 

And consecrated by a prayer ; 

For men rest here — men brave and true. 
Men evermore their country's pride, 

They gave that country all they had — 
When for her truth they fought and died ; 



BRING FLOWERS. 

And once each year a nation comes 
To this lone spot of billowy green — 

While in fair woman's graceful hands 
A wealth of rarest flowers is seen. 

With saddened eye and tender touch 

They deck those graves with gentle care, 

While music lends her thrilling tone, 
And countless voices fill the air ; 

In lofty verse they sing their praise 
Above those heroes' lowly bed. 

And then to silence and repose 

They leave again our honored dead. 



131 



ONE FLOWER FOR ''OUR SOLDIERS' 
GRAVES." 

" How sleep the brave who sink to rest 
With all their countiy's wishes blest." 




HE sweet May is here, with its long twilight 
hours, 
Its glad laughing sunshine, its soft weeping 
showers, 
Awaking the butterfly — waking the flowers 
To strew o'er the brave. 

Ah! life is so full e'en inanimate things 
Seem to pulsate and move with invisible wings. 
While the butterfly flutters, the wood-robin sings 
O'er the hush of the grave. 

Oh ! cover them tenderly ; flow-ers so fair, 
Pour out your fragrance as incense most rare ; 
Stir very gently, O sweet summer air. 

The grass o'er their grave. 



''OUR SOLDIERS' GRAVESr 133 

Think of them, mothers ! these brave men by you 
Were cradled and cared for their infancy through ; 
Were guarded and watched till to manhood they grew. 
So strong and so brave. 

Talk of them, brothers, with joy and with pride, 
As boys, how you played through the cool eventide, 
As men, with the foe how you fought side by side. 
So earnest, so brave ! 

Honor them, children ! you never may know 
How great is the debt to their valor you owe. 
How fierce was the struggle, how bitter the foe. 
How stern — yet how brave. 

And maidens — ah ! many a story could tell 
Of a tearful vow uttered, a tender farewell, 
Ere you bade him ''God speed " to the field where he 
fell— 

Your lover so brave ! 

Ah ! grey-headed father, how sharp was the blow 
When you read of your son " with the slain lying low "; 
Yet how proudly you added, " his face to the foe " — 
Your boy, young and brave ! 

O mothers of freemen ! their fame is our care : 
Let us hallow this day wiih music and prayer, 
And tenderly cover with flowers so fair 
The rest of the brave. 




ON THE BALL GIVEN AT THE "WHITE 
HOUSE," FEB. 5, 1862. 

" To everything thsre is a season, a time to mourn, and a time to 
dance." 

ROM afar comes the sound of a revel to-night, 
And many proud names fill a nation's wide 
halls, 

While fair forms of beauty look radiant and bright 
In the wealth of light shed from the mirror-decked 
walls. 

A gush of rare music is filling the room, 

And merry feet bound to its wild, witching flow. 

While the soft air seems freighted with summer's per- 
fume 
As the flower-wreathed waltzers still glide to and fro. 

Proud mother, gay maiden, oh ! pause in your mirth : 
Is this a fit time for your revel and show, 

While the blood of our fathers still moistens the earth, 
And our brothers lie stiff in the sleet and the snow ? 



BALL AT THE " WHITE HOUSED 135 

Oh ! come look with me in that cabin's low room, 
No '^ bright flowers" gladden the sufi"erer's eye, 

No shaded light steals thro' the chill and the gloom 
To the pallet of straw where our sick soldiers lie. 

No woman's soft hand wipes the death-damp away 
Of the dying man dreaming perchance of his home, 

While " the music " he hears is the clash of the fray. 
Or the funeral march of the low muffled drum. 

The heart of the nation lies stricken and sore. 
For treason has darkened her promise so bright. 

And true hearts are trembling on many a shore. 

Lest the star of man's hope should be shrouded in 
night. 

Oh ! mothers and maidens, there's work for us all — 

Leave the feast and the dance for a happier day, 
Since our country's brave sons have gone forth at her 
call, 
For their wants we should Work, for their cause we 
should Pray. 



i§iS « 



^^<^ 



o ^-f. Ch" o 



^S^<b• 



^\' 






^ 












Vo -^^^ /^^ ,' 






<> '«."'' J> 



'*•„ -. 






cr* A 



?'\.-^%"'^, 












V^v %;^»-y v-^-'*/^ 



»,#' • 






/^^^^'"^^^ ^^^^^:S— /^^^fe^^^'^^ 



cO * o - o ^ .<S 






^^^^ "/UK: %<^ 



.^'\ 

















v^^ 








.^^^^^ 
^ ^ 







